


Lovers of Their Opposites

by Willaphyx



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-26 17:34:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3858988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Willaphyx/pseuds/Willaphyx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For <a href="http://bellarkesupernova.tumblr.com">bellarkesupernova</a> on Tumblr, inspired by her tags on a post about OTPs and spinning in squeaky office chairs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lovers of Their Opposites

**Author's Note:**

> This also got away from me and the ending kind of just happened...? It also much raunchier than I usually write (the closest I get to smut, really) Sorry not sorry.

_Squeak._    _Squeak.  Squeeeeaaak_.

Clarke threw her pen down and leveled an angry glare at her partner.

Bellamy Blake.

How did Clarke begin to describe Bellamy Blake?

Handsome.  Witty.  Charming.  Smart-dresser.  And oh, so smart.

But also the world’s biggest pain in the ass.  Especially hers.

Now he was grinning at her with that wide smile that had basically everyone in their high school with two x chromosomes in love with him, teachers and students alike.  But not her.  No, never her.  Because Clarke Griffin could see right through Bellamy Blake and that damn cocky smile.

“We have a project to do,” she told him, pushing the assignment sheet he had discarded twenty minutes ago back towards him.  “Once we get this figured out you can seduce another helpless freshman or whatever it is you do in your spare time.”

His grin only widened.  “Why would I want a freshman when  _you’re_ right here?”

Clarke rolled her eyes.  “Please.”

 Another feral grin.  “But all right, if you insist.  The project.”  He mimed pushing up his sleeves and Clarke choked on the laugh she tried to suppress.

“Rewriting a scene of  _Romeo & Juliet_,” she added.  “And naturally, we got the fucking balcony scene.”

Bellamy smirked again.  “Language, princess.”

“Bite me, Blake,” she snarled back.

He leaned back in his chair and linked his hands behind his head.  And no, of course Clarke wasn’t distracted by the long column of his torso under that  _perfectly_  fitting and worn looking t-shirt.  She bet it was soft.  But of course she wasn’t thinking about it so what?  And no, of course her eyes weren’t immediately drawn to the way that position made his biceps bulge.

"I thought we already ruled that out?" he said, quirking an eyebrow.

Clarke cleared her throat and looked away.  Though of course there was nothing to look away  _from_  because she hadn’t been looking in the first place.  Of course.

Instead she looked down at the yellow handout in front of her (seriously, why did teachers insist on printing their assignments out on such absurd colors of paper?  It was giving her a stress headache just looking at it).

There was another  _squeak_  and she looked up to see Bellamy spinning aimlessly in his chair, head tipped back, cradled in his hands, which were still locked behind his neck.

 _What a_ child, Clarke thought to herself angrily.

“You are  _ridiculous,”_  is what she said out loud, reaching to catch the back of the chair.

The chair’s momentum jerked her forward at the same time that it sent Bellamy a bit off balance.  He reached out blindly to steady himself, and his hand wrapped around her shoulder, bare except for the strap of her tank top.

His hand was warm against her skin and suddenly Clarke found herself mesmerized.

They were inches apart, staring at each other openly.  This was the first time she’d really allowed herself to  _look_  at Bellamy Blake.  She’d always admired the strong lines of his figure from afar.  His jawline was impressive and no matter how much she hated him Clarke had wanted to run a hand through his hair and trace patterns across his freckles since she’d met him.  She’d always been consumed with thoughts of how his tan skin would look against her own china white tone.  And now she had the answer.

 _Intoxicating_ , whispered a voice in the back of her head.  And Clarke didn’t have it in her to dispute it.

His skin burned against hers, hot like a brand, matching the fire that she could see in his eyes.

“What are we doing?” she whispered.

That feral grin was even more irresistible up close.  “Replicating  _Romeo & Juliet?”_

 _Jesus_ , Clarke thought.  His voice had dropped an octave.  And while it was usually low and gravelly now it was dark and positively  _heady_.  She was in way over her head.  And she didn’t even care.

If she had been thinking straight now would have been when she started wondering how exactly she’d gotten herself into this mess.

Suddenly her lips felt dry and cracked.  She licked them.  She saw his eyes darken as his pupils expanded.

“You’re playing a dangerous game there, Griffin,” he said in that same low voice.

Clarke tilted her head to the side and felt a lazy smile spread across her face.  “Who says I’m playing?”

Bellamy’s eyes darted back up to hers and she could see the gears working there.

She had one more second to wonder where all of this confidence had come from and why she wasn’t pushing away the guy who was the closest thing she had to a mortal enemy before he was yanking her into his lap via the hand that was still planted on his shoulder.

The air in her chest (and there wasn’t much of it left by this point, she was pretty sure she hadn’t taken a breath since he touched her) left her lungs in a distinct  _huff_.

Bellamy was smirking again but she had no time for that.  Instead, she grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, twisting her fingers in the (yes, very soft) fabric and pulled him to her, closing the distance between them that she should have closed minutes ago.

 _But shit_ , she thought as his lips pressed against hers, still smirking until suddenly they weren’t and one of his hands was in her hair and the other was on her back, pulling her tighter against him,  _here was something else she should have done a long time ago._

Because Bellamy Blake was a fucking  _incredible_  kisser.

Okay incredible wasn’t even the right word.  Clarke didn’t think she’d ever have the mental capacity to come up with a word to describe how Bellamy Blake’s lips felt against hers, how the small chuckle that rumbled out of his throat set her blood on fire, how the careful trace of a hand down her cheek to her neck, to fiddle with her collar bone made her weak in the knees.

How she wanted him everywhere all at once.

How he made her forget that she was in his lap in a squeaking chair in one of the study rooms in their school library.

 _Maybe this was how Romeo and Juliet felt_ , she thought dazedly as he pressed careful butterfly kisses down her neck.  She let her head fall back and her eyes half-close as he sucked at the spot just under her collarbone, releasing a small mewling sound and clutching at his hair with both hands.

She felt his teeth against her skin as he smiled and she tugged at his hair in punishment, satisfaction blooming in her chest at his answering grunt.

“This isn’t helping with the project,” she breathed, cursing how breathy her voice sounded.

He licked the hollow above her collarbone and she shuddered.  He smiled again, pressing long lingering kisses back up her throat until he could nuzzle and bite at her ear.

“So, what,” he whispered and the sound of his voice  _right there_  sent the butterflies that had taken up residence in her stomach aflutter.  “I think I like this better.”

She groaned and he nipped at her neck again.  She twisted one hand in his hair and the other found its way to the hem of his shirt, sliding up his back.

His skin was on fire but smooth to the touch, and Clarke ached for a time when there wouldn’t be a shirt in her way.

(She’d think about what that meant later.  Right now she was too damn preoccupied to care.)

“We also still are in the-- _oh, Jesus_ \--library,” she managed, her words cut off when he returned his lips to hers, kissing away her protests.

“Clarke,” he muttered when they pulled away for just a second to catch their breath.  “I really  _really_  don’t care.”

Despite herself, she laughed and he lunged forward to kiss her again, more forcefully this time, and then one of  _his_ hands was under  _her_ shirt.

“This okay?” he whispered against her lips and she nodded.  “Good.”

Then he was opening her mouth with his tongue and  _God_ , Clarke moaned, probably out loud, but she had stopped caring about any of that shit the second she ended up in his lap.

He tasted like chocolate and raspberries and forbidden.  It was intoxicating.  Clarke was practically drunk on Bellamy Blake.

And it was the greatest feeling she’d ever experienced in her damn life.

He broke away from the kiss and rested his forehead against hers.  She chased his lips, wanting them back, wanting that  _feeling_  back.  He just smiled and turned his head to the side slightly so her lips messily grazed his cheek instead.  She whimpered in response.  He caressed the skin of her hip right above the waistband of her jeans as penance and she melted into the touch, allowing their foreheads to slot together.

Their heavy breathing filled the space between them.  Clarke’s eyes were closed but it was like she could see his face imprinted on the inside of her eyelids.

Blindly she reached up with one hand to trace the freckles across his nose.  He sighed quietly and damn if that wasn’t one of the cutest noises she’d ever heard.

“I hope you know how long I wanted to do that,” he whispered into the inches between them.

Clarke thought she would tense up at the words but she didn’t.  Instead, her natural reaction was to smile as one of her hands traced up the vertebrae of his lower back, still under his shirt.

Her eyes opened to find his deep brown ones staring right back at her.  She couldn’t look away as she found herself saying, “Well that’s good.”

A wide, hopeful smile.  “Really?”

She kissed him again, lightly, just for a second, and this time he was the one who chased her when she pulled away.

She moved her hand to his chest, pushing him back.  He fell into the chair as both his hands moved to her hips, supporting her as she leaned back just slightly.

She studied him, staring up at her with unguarded desire but also an honest almost childlike hoping that made it feel like her heart was going to tear in two.

“Really,” she replied quietly, almost shyly, unable to meet his eyes all of a sudden.

His hands clamped down hard on her hips as his shark-like smile made a reappearance.  “Well, that’s good,” he whispered, echoing her words and leaning forward so his lips brushed hers.

Her eyelids drifted shut again as he kissed her again.

And she was lost.  Lost to the tide of Bellamy Blake.  Lost to the feeling of his lips and tongue against hers.  Lost to the feeling of his hands on her skin.  Lost to the feeling of what she had never known she wanted.

Thirty minutes later when they manage to actually disentangle themselves from each other, Bellamy’s hair was a disaster (not that Clarke’s wasn’t), her shirt was so rumpled that she could barely tell which way it was supposed to fit, and there was a dazed look in Bellamy’s eyes that made Clarke want to push him back into the chair and start all over again.

But she couldn’t.  Because she had to be home for dinner.  And they still hadn’t figured out what they were doing for their project.

She told him as much while he straightened his shirt and attempted to tame the mess that her fingers made of his hair.

He just grinned and said, “For some reason I don’t think you or I don’t care particularly much about that.”

Clarke stared at him.  He just smiled again and reached out to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear.  The gesture was uncharacteristically tender.  She studied his face.

“I’m not everything you like to think I am, Clarke Griffin,” he said in response, as if he’d read her mind.

An unbidden smile spread across Clarke’s face and she swiftly leaned up to kiss him again.

“I think I like the sound of that, Bellamy Blake,” she whispered against his lips as she felt his answering smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Come cry with me on [Tumblr?](http://maytheymeeetagain.tumblr.com)


End file.
